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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29811315">The Fall of an Angel</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Santillatron/pseuds/Santillatron'>Santillatron</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Human, Curses, Fairy Tale Elements, Light Angst, M/M, Sort Of, Statues, Witches, soul mates</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 18:46:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,900</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29811315</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Santillatron/pseuds/Santillatron</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Aziraphale sets out to explore this patch of London that he so recently started calling home, finding a rather intriguing statue along the way. Now his dreams are filled with red hair and a sense that time is running out, and he thinks he might be going mad. </p>
<p>Then he takes the statue's hand, and while things don't get a whole lot clearer, they certainly do get a lot more interesting. </p>
<p>But only for one day. Because he's only got until sunset to fix it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>101</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>155</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Good Omens Human AUs</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was a prompt on facebook and, well, this happened.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Aziraphale enjoyed these quiet moments, the final few minutes before the business day started when he could just look around, still not quite believing he’d made it this far. Two months ago he had opened the shop in Soho, having taken the entire month prior getting it just how he wanted it, and so far it had been just as he’d hoped. Most days he would get a few customers, it was a busy street after all, but often he was left blissfully to his own devices. With his main income coming from restoring the books, the leap to selling from an actual premises was only forced when his collection threatened to take over his flat. Although, perhaps ‘selling’ was a rather misleading way of describing what he did. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nevertheless, Aziraphale now had a shop. The flat above was smaller than his previous flat, but due to the relocation of the books he’d actually ended up with more space. As lovely as that space was, though, today he’d vowed to get out and about to get to know his local area better with the help of a ‘treasure hunt’. The rules were simple. He had to find various landmarks and note down specific details, or take a range of photos with slightly odd requirements. So, camera slung around his neck, Aziraphale set off early in anticipation of a long day of traipsing around the capital in search of obscure locations.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first instruction on his list was to head to nearby St James’s Park and get a ‘selfie’ with the local ‘avian celebrities’, whatever that meant. Aziraphale began to walk south, entering the park through the large, iron gates. He walked a short way down the path that ran alongside the lake, observing the ducks, geese, and swans gliding along. Some of the benches were already occupied even at this early hour, people no doubt having a coffee on their way to work judging by their suits. Aziraphale could appreciate the view made this a lovely place to stop. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One bench had several black swans congregated around the occupant, who seemed to be feeding them a very dark bread. Aziraphale took some photos of the swans, then of the birds on the lake, taking the time to fiddle with the DSLR’s settings to get the image he wanted. He loved photography, loved capturing moments where people were just being so fundamentally human in their interactions. There was such beauty in humanity and Aziraphale wanted to capture it all, preserve it, and put it on display so others could see the world the way he did. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What he didn’t see, however, was anything particularly special about the birds here. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the water there were two men with long, dark coats (the mornings could be chilly, even in June), and they looked to be regulars judging by the way all the birds were perfectly happily munching the seeds around their feet. Aziraphale approached. It must have been quieter than he thought in the park because they both turned to him well before he expected to be noticed. Usually he had to clear his throat before people even realised he was there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two men looked at him, calculating, inspecting. It wasn’t a look Aziraphale was used to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Um, I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, gentlemen, but I was just wondering if you perhaps knew which birds would be considered more of a… well… a celebrity here?” He asked, wincing at the vulgar term. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The gentleman standing closest to him gave him a curious look, and glanced down at the paper in his hand where he’d printed a checklist of the items he needed to find. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.” The man said flatly. “You’re very early for a treasure hunter, aren’t you?” He looked around. “All on your own?” He seemed somewhat suspicious that Aziraphale would be engaging in this by himself and Aziraphale tried not to wither under his stare. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought it would be a novel way to get to know the local area, and take some interesting photographs at the same time.” He said, his voice only wavering slightly. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“May I see?” The man gestured towards his camera and Aziraphale found himself turning it around to show the man the screen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a few photos the man seemed to lose interest. “You want the pelicans. Keep going to the other end of the lake. You’ll need to get there soon otherwise they’ll be over at the zoo for the penguin feeding.” And he turned back to the lake. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you.” Aziraphale said, walking away. He felt very much like he’d passed some sort of test he wasn’t even aware he was sitting. It was rather a bewildering feeling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At the other end of the park he did, indeed, find pelicans. Huge white birds sat on a rock in the centre of the lake with their heads tucked into their backs, enormous beaks resting in their feathers. Aziraphale took a couple of photos, zooming in to capture them on their little island. The sheet had said ‘selfie’, but Aziraphale had already decided he would not feature in the photos himself. It was enough for him to challenge himself with unusual subject matter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Task completed, and the pelicans getting restless, Aziraphale ticked it off his list and looked for the next item. A Bearskins guard in front of the Palace. That he could do. Aziraphale set off back towards the shape of Buckingham Palace sticking out above the trees. He nodded at the two men as they watched him walk past again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Several photos, a few notes of inscriptions he’d had to find, and enough walking to more than treble his usual daily step count later, and Aziraphale came across one he couldn’t decipher at first glance. His sheet listed it as a photography task, but the only instructions were ‘take the cursed one by hand’. Aziraphale huffed in irritation, but he dutifully ambled his way over to Berkeley Square in the hope that it would become more obvious when he got there</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Approaching the centre of the square, he looked around. The oval shaped park was a generously sized open space filled mostly with grass and dotted with enormous plane trees. The trees looked old, probably contributing to the square’s Grade II listed status. own the centre of the park ran a path, benches set along the northern edge to face the sun, the surrounding buildings all the usual, flat fronted mixture of stone and brick as progress demanded something new be built through the ages. The centre of the park was marked by a statue, a woman holding a jug that would have, at some point, spilled over into the basin below as a small fountain. She didn’t look particularly cursed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With lunchtime fast approaching, the park was filling up as the workers in the surrounding offices escaped to enjoy the sun. Aziraphale saw two young women heading for a quiet patch on the edge of the park, giggling to themselves. Following them from a distance, Aziraphale kept his camera at the ready. He would never interrupt an intimate moment, but he wanted to see what had made them so giddy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It turned out to be another largeish statue. A human figure, life size and cast in black bronze. The two women were each holding one of the statue’s hands, and taking a photo. Aziraphale quickly brought his camera up and took his own picture of the odd behaviour. The light was probably awful, but he should be able to tweak it in post production. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After they’d gone, he went over to look at the statue. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale stopped, mesmerised. The statue was beautiful. And not just in the exquisite detailing in the folds in the fabric, or the capturing of the fearful expression, but the subject itself was by far the most beautiful person Aziraphale had ever seen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The figure was leaning back, falling, his long, curly hair streaming away from his face as if caught by the wind. Dressed in ragged robes, the billowing material was likely a trick by the sculptor to support the unusual pose. Both of his hands were outstretched, reaching forward, his angular face twisted with fear and despair. Aziraphale read the inscription set into the flat, stone base. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The Cursed Man - Cast in Bronze, Artist Unknown. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p><span>Ah. So this was the ‘cursed one’ that</span> <span>he was supposed to take one of those dreadful ‘selfies’ with. </span></p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale took another photo of the statue, then, on a whim, took one from the position of the person that cursed him, so the statue looked right into the lens. He had to fiddle about holding the camera up high to get the right angle, but it was worth it in the end. The statue’s eyes were so expressive, so full of emotion that couldn’t be captured from another angle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Whoever the artist was, Aziraphale could tell they were incredibly skilled. The statue looked as if it would move the moment it was unobserved. Azirapahle was astounded by the graceful pose of the hands trying to catch hold of something, the long fingers caught in the act of closing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He took two more photos, the beam of sunlight hitting just right to give a hint of red to the statue’s hair as the bronze shone through, the dust around it dancing like a shattered halo gently dissipating. The inscription may have said a 'cursed man', but Aziraphale thought him more of a falling angel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t touch it, though. He was content to look at the statue, appreciate its beauty and the skill of the sculptor. It really was quite an incredible find. Aziraphale was now very glad he had chosen to do the treasure hunt today. He allowed himself one, final look over the slender form revealed by the wind-blasted robes, then turned away, thoughts of lunch trickling into his mind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Later that afternoon, Aziraphale finished the rest of the treasure hunt, finding all manner of intriguing little details. None of the other things he discovered that day, however, lived up to that statue. He was still thinking about it several days later. Who was he? Who had cursed him, and why? What could he have possibly done to deserve such treatment? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was at that point that Aziraphale realised he’d started to think of the statue as a person. But even as he tried to remind himself that it was just a statue, probably of a model who would be long gone by now, he found himself wanting to know more. He just couldn’t get the figure out of his head. It was three more days before he dug out the photos he’d taken the day of the treasure hunt, convinced that he’d embellished the statue in his mind with qualities that it didn’t possess. Looking at the images, he came to the conclusion that the statue really was as beautiful as he’d remembered, and that this was becoming a little unsettling. Perhaps if he went and visited it again, he might be able to let it go? There were a couple of days left until he closed on Sunday, so Aziraphale resolved to visit then. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Unfortunately, though Aziraphale was blessed with many virtues, patience was not one of them and so he found himself in Berkeley Square at lunchtime the following day. There were quite a few people around the statue today, pretending to be the one cursing him, or holding his outstretched hand, lightly grasping fingers of darkened bronze while they posed for photos. Aziraphale didn’t stay long, having come only to examine the statue and that couldn’t be done with this many people around it. He also found himself becoming rather irrationally angry with the sheer number of people touching the statue. Giving up, he headed back to the bookshop, doing his level best not to let this unexpected emotion get the better of him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next morning Aziraphale woke up with a gasp, the streetlight shining through the curtains. He often woke early, the stresses of opening a bookshop triggering another bout of insomnia that had him up and about even before the midsummer dawn. Aziraphale inspected the clock. Four in the morning. Not the worst, but still very early. He pulled back the covers with a sigh and swung his legs over the edge. He couldn’t tell what woke him this time, but he had a vague memory of vibrant red curls, and curiously yellow eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale looked at the clock again. It would be dawn soon, but with the number of high-profile offices (and not to mention a Bentley showroom) around it, Berkeley Square was probably one of the safest areas in London. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dressing himself on a familiar autopilot, Aziraphale grabbed a light jacket and his camera, and set out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fifteen minutes later, having waved at numerous street cleaners and security guards, he was standing in front of the statue, the sky just starting to lighten to the east, and wondering what he was doing. The statue looked more sinister in the gloom, the cold dawn glow bringing out the cruelty of the act as the shadows fell across the figure’s face. But still Aziraphale couldn’t bring himself to believe the figure had deserved his fate. The expression in those eyes spoke of confusion. Betrayal, even. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale searched for other clues, anything that could give a hint to his identity. </span>
  <span>The area surrounding the statue gave no indications of the statue’s origins, it was well tended, flowers sprouting up around it in the grass, the plants in the nearby borders neat and tidy. There did seem to be an unusual number of flowers in this little corner, although Aziraphale did not consider himself a gardener so he did not place any significance on his observation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taking some more photos, Aziraphale sought to capture the drama of the pose better in the light of the dawn. By some quirk of fate the spot the statue was placed in lined up perfectly with a gap in the buildings, a side road that ran east, directly towards the rising sun as it peeked over the horizon. Aziraphale’s last photo just caught the first rays of sun kissing the tips of those long fingers as they reached up into the air, making the statue look as if he were reaching for the sun itself. Then, with a sigh, Aziraphale turned towards home to start his day, knowing full well that this had done nothing to reduce the growing fascination he had with this unusual piece. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stopped at the patisserie for breakfast though, so it wasn’t an entirely fruitless journey. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After another busy day, and an early night to compensate for his pre-dawn start, Aziraphale once again woke at four, the image of the statue’s face turned flesh even more vivid in his mind. He’d had freckles. And there was something niggling away at Aziraphale’s brain about his eyes, but he couldn’t think what. By the time Aziraphale had navigated around a bunch of revellers all making their way to the first tube of the day, the sun was nearly up in Berkeley Square. Aziraphale raised his camera, but entirely forgot to press the button when the sun hit the statue’s face. His hair turned from a dark and seething mass to a cascade of fiery curls as the morning sun hit them. Finding himself quite overcome, Aziraphale stepped closer, hands gripping his camera tightly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who are you?” He whispered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A street sweeper trundled past outside the park, his cart bumping along the pavement on the other side of the hedge and Aziraphale jumped back. Bewildered by what was fast becoming an obsession, he dashed home, uploaded the photos, and set about preparing the shop for opening. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale didn’t go back the next morning, although he still woke up before dawn. This time on top of the hair, the eyes and the freckles, there was a voice. One word. ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Angel’</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was called out to him, but the problem was it had felt so natural, as if it were a dear friend he hadn’t seen in a long time. It left him quite rattled for the rest of the day. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By closing time he knew he had to do something about this, so he called one of the few friends he’s made in the last few months. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anathema! So glad to have caught you. Listen, I have a bit of an odd request. I found a statue in Berkeley Square, and I wondered if you might find a bit more about it? … Yes, well, you know you’ve always been better at the research than me. … No I’m just curious I suppose, I thought it might be more your area of interest as apparently he’s been cursed. … Hang on, I took a few photos. I’ll send them to you. ...  Oh thank you, dear girl! Yes, yes I’ll see you at the weekend. Toodle-pip!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale fired up his computer and quickly emailed the photos across to Anathema. If anyone could find out what the statue was all about, it was her. After all, she was a witch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Within an hour he had a text message from Anathema. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>See why you want to know more! Pity they don’t know the sculptor, it’s so lifelike. Give me a few days and I’ll see what I can find. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale tried to be patient, but woke up in even more of a state the next morning. The figure in his dreams had called out to him again, his voice more urgent this time. Hands had reached for him, but he hadn’t reached back. He woke up feeling like he had failed somehow, lost something. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Without really thinking about it, he dressed and left the flat, heading for Berkeley Square. He felt some measure of relief to find the statue still there, the rising sun warming it just as he arrived. Dawn was getting earlier each day, the summer solstice only two days away now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What has happened to you, my dear?” He found himself asking the statue, his voice low. “Why do you visit me in my dreams?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale hadn’t expected an answer, so wasn't too disappointed when he didn't receive one. He stood, staring at the statue for as long as he could spare, and it was only when he got back to the shop to open up that he realised he hadn’t even taken his camera this time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next morning was much the same again, except that in this dream he had tried to reach back. He had been too late though, too slow, a brief hesitation costing him the feeling of the figure’s hand in his. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the time he got to the statue the sun was already cutting a line across the grass, picking it out in a natural spotlight, and all he had time for was a brief ‘I’m so sorry, my dear. I’ll try harder next time.’ Dashing back to the shop, he really hoped Anathema would have some answers for this, because the only other option was that his insomnia had finally broken him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She still hadn’t replied.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That night Aziraphale had the worst night’s sleep he’d had in a long time. It only marginally managed to not be the worst night ever by virtue of him actually getting any sleep at all. However that may not have been the blessing he’d hoped for, as the dream was the most vivid it had ever been. Aziraphale tried his hardest to catch the figure, to grasp those long fingered hands and hold them tight, but he still woke up with the lasting image of that face falling away from him, and the cry of ‘Angel!’ so heart wrenching that he found himself with wet cheeks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He dressed fast, not looking at the clock, and dashed out of the flat. He arrived at Berkeley Square before the sun had made it over the horizon, merely a hint of blue at the end of the road to the east. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The statue was unchanged, but Aziraphale’s sense of loss was profound. He wanted so badly to reach out and grab those hands, hold them tight and pull the figure close. He wanted to know his name. He wanted to know how anyone could hurt him, what that curse had been. Somewhere along the way he had dismissed the idea that the statue depicted a fictional event, although he couldn’t tell what exactly made him so sure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But real person or not, this was just a statue. Just a lump of bronze cast into the most exquisite of forms. A mimicry of a life that had ended long ago. Aziraphale felt the tears falling. He would never meet this man. Never know his touch, never save him. All he had was this blackened facsimile and the vivid images in his dreams. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale stepped closer as the light crept across the sky, the figure’s features becoming clearer. He knew what he had to do. This was becoming an obsession, and it wasn’t healthy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Studying the figure’s features as he prepared his final goodbye, Aziraphale’s gaze dragged around to the sun as it hit his face. The statue’s hands were reaching towards it, one reaching out further than the other as the statue’s body twisted slightly towards Aziraphale. Perhaps if he couldn’t grasp him in his dreams, he could at least hold the copy of his hand, feel the shape of it and hopefully it would be enough for his mind to settle. Stepping closer he reached out towards the furthest hand, hesitating only slightly, before taking hold of it in a firm grasp. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In his peripheral the statue lurched, and Aziraphale panicked, his other hand snapping up under the statue’s shoulders to catch it as it tipped backwards. He snapped his eyes down to the large, stone base to see where it had broken.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he fretted about knocking over this statue that had been here for goodness knows how long, two things occurred to him in quick succession. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Firstly, that the statue wasn’t nearly as heavy as he’d expected it to be. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And secondly, that the hand he was holding, was holding him back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The realisation hit him at the same time that he heard the voice. It was undoubtedly the same voice he had been hearing in his dreams, albeit a little croaky as if from lack of use. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Angel…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale looked up to see red hair, just as he’d dreamt it, and those very same yellow eyes looking at him with a healthy dose of wonder mixed with a relief so profound that Aziraphale felt in his own soul. The statue’s eyes had slit pupils, Aziraphale realised, like a snake. He’d never really noticed how unusual it was before. It had seemed perfectly natural in his dreams. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Those eyes seemed to be looking at Aziraphale’s hair, roaming around the edges of him where he was blocking the sun, his shadow cast across the… man’s face? Then the eyes fluttered shut, and the figure collapsed in his arms, hand slipping from his grip. Aziraphale exhaled a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, sucking down the next one immediately as he scrambled to hold him upright.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Whilst Aziraphale disapproved of swearing as a general rule, when cast bronze turns to life in your very arms he deemed it permissible, if not downright obligatory. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He panicked again. And then panicked some more. He had no frame of reference for this, no idea what you were supposed to do in this sort of situation, but he knew he couldn’t just leave this… person out here alone and apparently unconscious. Gathering him up in his arms, he began to carry him home, hoping and praying that he wouldn’t encounter any police on his way because, quite rightly, they tended to frown upon men carrying unconscious people to their flat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mercifully he made it home without having to explain himself, and laid the man down on the sofa in the back of the shop. He collapsed down on the floor next to him, back leaning against the sofa, and heaved an exhausted sigh that turned into a yawn. Tipping his head back for just a moment, he quickly fell fast asleep. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Aziraphale woke up and for a moment was very disorientated. It took him a few blinks to work out that that was because he was on the hard, wooden floorboards of his bookshop, which certainly explained the stiff neck and dry mouth. He loved the quirky layout and old world feel of his shop, but by God did it collect dust. Berating himself for letting his insomnia get so bad that he’d managed to fall asleep on the floor, he tried to work out how he'd got there. He didn’t get very far before he heard the phone ringing, at least answering the question as to what had woken him up. Dragging himself up to his feet, he went to find out who could be calling at this hour. It was fully daylight outside but it was still early, the streets filling with the first office workers on their way to work. Aziraphale could remember with startling clarity his latest strange dream about that statue, and for once it hadn’t been about the figure falling, but coming to life under his hands. He shook his head. It felt incredibly real but it was surely just his sleep deprivation sending him slightly mad, that was all. </p>
<p>Aziraphale picked up the old phone, surprised at the soreness in his arms, but before he could think too hard about it the voice on the other end shouted at him. </p>
<p>“Aziraphale! Finally... Aziraphale oh my god that statue you asked me to look at… you are not going to <em> believe </em> what I found!”</p>
<p>“Hello Anathema.” Aziraphale said weakly, scrubbing at his face with his free hand. It was too soon after waking up for this sort of enthusiasm. </p>
<p>“It's incredible. There’s an urban myth about it. Legend says that it was an evil man who crossed a witch and she cursed him, turning him into the statue.” </p>
<p>“An… <em> evil </em>man, you say? Are you sure?”</p>
<p>“That’s what the legend says. So anyway, the witch cursed him to remain as a statue until his soulmate found him. Goodness knows why, sounds like a daft thing to put in a curse if you ask me. The story goes that the soulmate has to hold the statue’s hand and then it will come back to life. There’s pictures all over the internet of people taking selfies holding its hand. It's been there a really long time.” </p>
<p>“S-soulmate?” Aziraphale’s voice went very tight. “H-hold his hand. Right.” </p>
<p>This didn’t look good. He thought about all his dreams, that feeling of profound loss every time he failed to catch him. Aziraphale didn't believe in soul mates.</p>
<p>“Yeah, so the best bit is,” Anathema continued, “someone stole the statue last night. It’s gone! But nobody can work out how. That much bronze is really heavy and there are no vehicle marks on the ground. The square has security guards all around it at night on the offices, and none of them heard a thing. Nothing on any cameras either, and no debris or things you’d usually find when removing a statue. Not even a scratch on the plinth. It’s almost as if it just upped and walked away. So of course twitter has exploded with the idea that his soulmate finally found him and freed him from his curse.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale thought back to his latest dream. He took a step out to where he could see the sofa. It couldn’t… oh good Lord it could. He nearly dropped the phone. There he was. Sprawled out, limbs flung haphazardly, still fast asleep, and very, very alive. Or, at least, doing a very good impression of it. Aziraphale's dream had felt so real because it wasn't a dream at all. </p>
<p>Oh this was all too much. And before breakfast as well. </p>
<p>“Yes. About that…” Aziraphale tried, ducking back behind the wall and lowering his voice as if it would make any difference now. “How evil do you think he was, exactly?”</p>
<p>“Aziraphale do you hear me? A statue has vanished in mysterious and possibly occult circumstances. This is incredible! Where do you think he's gone? What's his soul mate like? Do you think they've been looking for him all this time? Oh my god I'll have to go over there!” There was the sound of clattering on the other end as presumably Anathema began to gather her equipment. </p>
<p>“Anathema, dearest, he... um... he didn’t walk away. He may have been… carried. Now, <em> how evil was he?</em>” Aziraphale’s voice was noticeably strained.</p>
<p>There was a heavy silence. Human-sized-bronze-statue heavy. </p>
<p>“Are you…? Aziraphale what are you saying? Do you know something?” Anathema asked very carefully, the excitement creeping into her voice. </p>
<p>“I’m saying, my dear, that I think you should come over as quickly as possible. And that we need to look into the ‘evil’ thing as a matter of urgency.” </p>
<p>Anathema made some sort of noise somewhere between a gasp and a squeal. </p>
<p>“Aziraphale you didn’t steal the statue, did you?! I mean, I knew you were strong, but-” </p>
<p>“I didn’t <em> steal </em> him, no. Anathema, I’ll explain when you get here, I promise. But for now please hurry, before he wakes up again.” </p>
<p>Another bronze-statue-heavy silence dangled precariously over Aziraphale's head.</p>
<p>“...Wakes up <em> again</em>?” Anathema ventured. </p>
<p>“Wakes up, again.” </p>
<p>“I’ll see you in five.” </p>
<p>Aziraphale put the phone’s handset down as the line went dead. He had a very horrible feeling that at forty one, his life was about to get rather more exciting than he’d planned for. </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>True to her word, Anathema arrived at the bookshop door five unreasonably long minutes later, weighed down with a large canvas bag and a wooden contraption that seemed to be mostly legs. Anathema owned the occult shop next door, and had apparently decided to bring most of it with her. Opening the door as quietly as possible to let her in, Aziraphale held the bell so it wouldn’t make a sound. He put a finger to his lips as she squeezed through the door and they crept to the table in the back room to put down her equipment. </p>
<p>“Holy crap Aziraphale you look... awful. Have you not been sleeping again?” Anathema whispered, taking a small pot from her bag that seemed to contain mostly salt as Aziraphale shook his head. "What's going on?" Anathema asked kindly. </p>
<p>“I think I’d better show you, my dear. It's rather hard to explain.” </p>
<p>Aziraphale led her to the snug, where the man was still sleeping on the sofa, twitching occasionally. Aziraphale had never seen Anathema flummoxed, but as she fumbled out her phone and drew up the photos he’d sent her to hold up for comparison, he could see she was about as bewildered as he was. </p>
<p>“Tell me <em> everything.</em>” She whispered. </p>
<p>“I’m not sure what to tell you.” He whispered back. “Ever since I saw the statue I’ve been unable to get him out of my head. Then I started having dreams about him. I thought it was just my insomnia making me imagine things so I went back to the statue a few times, and found nothing out of the ordinary. Except this morning I went back again and… might have held the statue’s hand. As soon as I did I was… well… holding <em>him</em>.” Aziraphale gestured at the figure laying on the sofa, all long limbs and angles, with ember-red hair and sharp cheekbones. The robe he wore was tattered at the hem, and all black. “He’s exactly how I saw him in my dreams. His voice is the same too. He only ever said one word, the same word he said when he… what would you call it? Reanimated?” Aziraphale said, turning to look at Anathema. </p>
<p>“Aziraphale... this is insane. What did he say?!” She said, turning to look back at him. There was excitement in her eyes, but also a healthy dose of fear. She rummaged around in her bag, putting a long bread knife within easy reach.</p>
<p>“He called me ‘Angel’, then he passed out. I barely caught him. I had to carry him all the way home.” Anathema shot him an incredulous look. "I couldn't very well leave him out there in the park unconscious, could I?"</p>
<p>They both turned back to the figure as he whimpered slightly. </p>
<p>“I guess this means the legends are true…” She said.</p>
<p>“Anathema, what do we do?!” Aziraphale fretted. “What happens when he wakes up? What if he really is..." Aziraphale glanced around, dropping his voice even further and wringing his hands. "...<em>evil</em>?” </p>
<p>As if on cue, the figure stirred and Anathema and Aziraphale both took a step back, Anathema holding the salt shaker out in front of her, making sure she was within easy reach of the bread knife. In her rummaging she'd also managed to find a large, iron key which she held in the other hand.</p>
<p>The man scrunched up his face, mouth opening and closing a few times as he wriggled and stretched into consciousness. It was such a human act, Aziraphale found himself doubting his own memory of the morning's events. Then eyes that had been haunting Aziraphale’s dreams opened slowly and looked straight at him. The man’s face broke into a wide smile, a brief moment of unadulterated joy, before his gaze slipped to Aziraphale’s right. As the man saw Anathema his whole countenance changed, scrambling backwards into the corner of the sofa, arms held out defensively over his face as he cowered away from her, gasping ‘witch!’</p>
<p>Aziraphale stepped forward without thinking. Before he'd even questioned whether it was sensible to approach, he was sitting on the sofa, reaching for the man. </p>
<p>“It’s alright.” He said as gently as possible, hoping he could be heard over the ‘no, no, no’ being chanted like a prayer, “She’s a friend. Anathema isn’t going to hurt you.” </p>
<p>“Aziraphale… His eyes…” Anathema said, clearly alarmed as she fiddled with her pot of salt and key. Aziraphale looked at him, having quite forgotten the serpentine nature of those slitted pupils. </p>
<p>“Oh, yes. I suppose they are a little different.” Aziraphale said, not entirely sure it was really worth a fuss. The eyes darted between Aziraphale and Anathema, lingering on Aziraphale longer each time. Aziraphale held out his hand, open and unthreatening, a simple offering of peace and reassurance. To his surprise the man grabbed it instantly. He still glanced nervously at Anathema, but the tension started to slip from his body, his shoulders edging gradually lower. </p>
<p>Aziraphale could only stare at their hands, the man’s slender fingers wrapped around his shorter, stubbier ones, and it struck Aziraphale that the man's hand seemed perfectly sized to fit around his. He’d never felt anything like it, the electric buzz of contact combined with the soul soothing feel of the familiar.</p>
<p>Hang on. What had Anathema said about souls?</p>
<p>“Anathema dearest, what was it you said before, about the legend?” He asked, barely tearing his eyes from the man’s face. </p>
<p>“Which bit? The evil bit?” She asked. The man scowled, drawing back into himself again. “Or the bit about how to wake it- <em> him </em>up?” </p>
<p>“Y-yes. That bit.” </p>
<p>“The legend was he could only be woken by his... well, his soulmate. Aziraphale I don’t know how else to tell you this but your auras are both going crazy right now. Whatever he is, you’re reacting to each other in a big way.” </p>
<p>Aziraphale stared at the man again. </p>
<p>“I know you don’t believe in this soul mates or love at first sight stuff Aziraphale, but I don’t think it cares.” She said. </p>
<p>“Right.” Aziraphale said, woefully underprepared to deal with that sort of discussion. “I think this calls for tea.” He stood up, letting go of the man’s hand. Or tried to, at least. The slender hand gripped his and held fast, insistently almost. Aziraphale looked down into pleading eyes. “You’re not going to turn back if I let go.” Aziraphale reassured him, but the pleading look didn’t stop. He turned to Anathema. </p>
<p>“I’ll make it, shall I.” She sighed, and swept away to the little kitchenette area at the back of the shop, skirts swishing in her wake. She left the salt and key on the table.</p>
<p>Aziraphale took his seat again and to his surprise the man leant forwards. </p>
<p>“You can’t trust her, she’s a witch...” He murmured, his voice low and eyes fixed on the direction Anathema had left in. Aziraphale tried not to notice the shiver he felt at the sound of his voice.   </p>
<p>Smiling as gently as possible, Aziraphale leaned in as well, keeping his own voice low. “She prefers to be called an ‘occultist’, but broadly speaking, yes. She’s a witch, but a good one.”</p>
<p>The man looked at him like he’d grown an extra head. </p>
<p>“Look, why don’t you tell me your name?” Aziraphale asked as gently as possible, giving his hand a squeeze. </p>
<p>“Crowley.” The man said, looking down and Aziraphale noticed he was fidgeting, the fingers of his free hand twisting into the fabric of his robe, eyes constantly moving as if he was about to take flight. </p>
<p>“Well, Crowley, it’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Aziraphale.” </p>
<p>Another searching look as thin lips worked their way silently around the syllables. Aziraphale was enthralled by the way they moved, erratic and with the impression that they might pull into a smirk at any moment. </p>
<p>“Angel.” Crowley said firmly. </p>
<p>“Why do you- oh! Thank you Anathema, dear.” Aziraphale said as she returned with a tray filled with three cups, milk, sugar, and a large teapot with a quilted tartan cosy. She put the tray down on the little side table (after Aziraphale relocated the two books from it) and poured, handing Aziraphale Crowley's cup to pass on. Crowley didn’t touch his until Anathema had sat down in the armchair opposite and taken a few sips herself. </p>
<p>“Why were you cursed?” Anathema asked abruptly, cradling her tea in her lap. </p>
<p>“Why do you want to know, witch?” Crowley replied, a bite to his voice as he eyed her warily. Anathema raised an eyebrow at him, arching over her thick rimmed glasses. </p>
<p>“Because it’s not fully broken, and knowing why you were cursed might help us work out how to get rid of it. Or, if we even should get rid of it. I’m inclined to let it do it’s thing, personally.” She shrugged.</p>
<p>Crowley glared at her. “Asked too many questions.” </p>
<p>“You got cursed for asking questions?” Anathema looked surprised. </p>
<p>“Some people don’t like being questioned.” Crowley said, rather pointedly, taking a long, loud slurp from his mug as he watched her over the rim. </p>
<p>“Crowley, she’s only trying to help.” Aziraphale said mildly exasperated, putting his tea down and bringing his other hand to where Crowley had somehow entwined their fingers without him noticing. “Perhaps if we knew when it was that you were cursed?” He asked, examining Crowley's slender fingers slotted between his. They looked so natural there, fitting into the gaps. </p>
<p>“Sixteen fifty.” Crowley replied, sulking slightly, taking another gulp of his tea. </p>
<p>“Sixtee- you mean to say you were cursed three hundred and seventy years ago?!” Aziraphale blurted out.</p>
<p>Crowley shrugged, a rolling movement that seemed to involve a lot more than just the shoulder he raised. As shrugs go it was artfully meaningless. </p>
<p>“Eyes.” Anathema demanded. “What’s with the eyes?”</p>
<p>This seemed to confuse him. Anathema retrieved a small mirror from her bag and held it out. With a dramatic roll of his eyes that for some reason required his whole head, Crowley looked at it, then stopped and peered closer. He set down his tea to take the mirror from her hands and moved it about his face, staring intently into it, examining himself. </p>
<p>“Well that’s new.” He said, handing the mirror back.</p>
<p>“So they’re probably part of the curse then.” Anathema said, digging around in her bag again. “Interesting. Who cursed you?” </p>
<p>“M‘unno. Grumpy old northern witch. Says I showed up at the wrong time, and next thing I know I'm taking a three hundred and fifty-”</p>
<p>"Seventy" Aziraphale mumbled absentmindedly.</p>
<p>"-<em>seventy</em> year tumble into this one's arms. Could be worse, really."</p>
<p>Anathema rolled her eyes. “So you got cursed for asking too many questions, but failed to find out anything actually useful.” </p>
<p>“Never said they were useful questions.” </p>
<p>Aziraphale was still watching him. Crowley felt so familiar, and yet he couldn’t possibly be. It should have been more unnerving than it was. </p>
<p>“Why do the stories say you’re evil?” Aziraphale asked. He wasn't sure he wanted the answer, but he needed to know. Aziraphale <em>didn't</em> believe in soul mates, but he couldn't help wonder how an evil one reflected on him.</p>
<p>Crowley turned to look at him, slightly incredulous. Picking up a strand of his vibrant red hair, he held it forward. </p>
<p>“Stole the fires of hell, din’ I. Wish I remembered doing it though. Would be a great story.”</p>
<p>Relief and understanding flooded through Aziraphale at his words. Of course. Red heads had been persecuted throughout history for the false belief that hair colour somehow put them in league with the devil. Aziraphale could very easily see how Crowley would have encouraged that belief, as clearly as he could see that it was false. </p>
<p>“Oh, oh my dear.” Aziraphale said. “Well, nobody… actually that’s not quite true. <em> Most </em> people don’t have that belief any more. I certainly don’t. Nobody is evil by virtue of the colour of their hair, or any other part of them.”</p>
<p>Crowley looked amused. “Really? Damn. Used to have a lot of fun with that.” He gulped down the last of his tea, setting the cup back down and leaning close to Aziraphale. “Can I still be sexually depraved?” He asked, his voice low and sultry, a thumb swiping over Aziraphale's hand where their fingers were still entwined. </p>
<p>Aziraphale felt the heat bloom on his face. He glanced sideways at Anathema, licking his lips while he considered his answer. “That all depends. A lot of… of <em> acts </em>are no longer considered ‘depraved’ by a considerable portion of society, or, indeed, the law.”</p>
<p>Anathema snorted out a laugh at the mildly disappointed look on Crowley’s face. “Right. Well I don't need to do anything occult to see that you’ll have no trouble here, Aziraphale.” She said. Crowley pouted, drawing back into his corner. “None that you can't handle, at least. And as fascinating as this is, I’ve got to go open the shop. Got a big delivery coming today that I can't miss. Otherwise I'd stay and quiz the hell out of you, Crowley. Don't think I've forgotten, though. In the meantime I’ll look up northern witches that were active in 1650 and see what I can find.” With one final look over a mildly sulking Crowley, she swept up her bags and the leggy, wooden contraption, and left. </p>
<p>Aziraphale looked at Crowley, suddenly uneasy at being alone with him. He didn’t know what the expectation would be, and he was still blushing at the implication of Crowley’s question. </p>
<p>“So, my dear, as it is your first day here, what would you like to do?” Crowley grinned and Aziraphale thought he might be in trouble after all. </p>
<p>After Aziraphale's initial blushes, it turned out what Crowley wanted to do was be around people. He wanted to get out into the world and see what it was like three hundred and seventy years on. With only a minor nudge, Aziraphale managed to convince him that this should start with some more modern clothes so that he wouldn’t stand out too much for the wrong reasons. Once inside in John Lewis, Aziraphale hastily regaled the assistant with a story about lost luggage and, after a few too many curious looks at his face, Crowley found some sunglasses. He settled on a pair with round, reflective lenses and perforated metal panels on the side, completely hiding his eyes. Aziraphale missed them as soon as they were covered. </p>
<p>Crowley then stalked around feeling all the materials and poking the rails. He seemed particularly amused by the escalators. Aziraphale had to guide him back to his task a few times as he got distracted by various trinkets and came very close to prying opening a till out of curiosity, before finally picking up a selection of items all in black. He started to pull at his robe, but Aziraphale grabbed his arm and swept him towards the changing rooms. </p>
<p>“You can’t do that in the middle of the shop. Go in there.” He whispered to him, gesturing to a cubicle. Crowley froze up as soon as he stepped in. Then he put the clothes down and stepped forward, right up to the mirror, examining himself again. He turned around, looking at himself all over. </p>
<p>Crowley had turned out to be slightly taller than Aziraphale, which would have been quite a bit above the average height for men in sixteen fifty and no doubt contributed to the way he stooped. What the cause was for the way he walked, however, was unclear. It seemed rather an uneven gait, and Aziraphale wondered if there might be a problem with the man's hips, or if his body was suffering from the three and a half centuries without movement. The looseness of the robe had made it rather difficult to see anything in detail enough to make any sort of diagnosis.</p>
<p>Aziraphale raised his eyes to the heavens for a moment, wondering how on Earth this could happen to him. This morning he'd woken up thinking he was going mad, and within the space of a few, short hours he was almost sure of it. Glancing towards the shop, Aziraphale hoped that nobody would enter the changing rooms. When he looked back towards Crowley he nearly choked. Crowley hadn’t bothered to close the curtain, and was currently baring his naked backside to the world as he bent over and began to shimmy into some absurdly tight jeans. Aziraphale tried not to look, but Crowley was rather unreasonably gorgeous, it turned out. Long and slender, he had a neat, round bottom, but the most riveting aspect was the almost serpentine sway of his hips as he worked his way into trousers that were surely too small. The robe he’d worn had clearly hidden quite a lot from the world, and Aziraphale considered it a travesty. There were <em>dimples</em> for goodness' sake. </p>
<p>The trousers finally slipped over that perfect arse somehow, and Aziraphale had no idea how he was going to get through this day with the knowledge that Crowley wasn't wearing underwear. His eyes snapped up to catch Crowley’s reflection in the mirror, looking back at him with a knowing smirk on his face. </p>
<p>“How'd they look?” Crowley asked, jutting his hip out to one side. Honestly, the way this man's spine moved made Aziraphale wonder just how far the serpentine adaptations of the curse had gone because there was no reasonable explanation for why a body should be able to do<em> that.</em> </p>
<p>“Perfectly adequate.” Aziraphale retorted rather stiffly, looking away and well aware of the colour of his face. With his long hair, sunglasses, and low rise black jeans, Crowley unwittingly looked every bit the debaucherous rock god and Aziraphale wasn't sure he should be finding it quite so thrilling. </p>
<p>The rest of the fitting progressed with only the odd peek as Crowley tried on various tops, finally settling on a form-fitting charcoal henley layered with a black waistcoat and blazer. It toned down the sex and drugs aspect, but still looked very rock and roll and suited him immensely, which Crowley seemed all too aware of. Aziraphale couldn’t help the way his gaze wandered. </p>
<p>“Oh! Shoes!” Aziraphale said, as that gaze wandered down to Crowley’s bare, wiggling toes. Aziraphale collected the tags from the clothes Crowley had chosen, and they made their way over to the shoe department, by way of the socks. Crowley chose red ones. Somewhere he'd also found a belt with a snake's head, which he insisted on threading through the jeans.</p>
<p>One pair of black, snakeskin Chelsea boots later, and Aziraphale was considering that perhaps the serpetine presentation of the curse had more to do with Crowley than the witch. All that remained was for Aziraphale to hand over a credit card at the till, wincing slightly at the total and noting that Crowley clearly had expensive taste, and they headed out into the London morning. </p>
<p>Crowley stretched in the sun, turning heads with the graceful arch of his back, and dropped back into his customary slouch as they wandered down the road. His erratic gait was more obvious now. Still unusual, it lacked rhythm but it made up for it in attitude. In short, Crowley sauntered. Aziraphale found it all at once surprising and yet completely obvious that he would move through the world like that. He was mesmerised, watching this man positively stalk his way through the streets of London as if he owned them, feet landing where they chose as his hips swayed to his own internal rhythm.</p>
<p><em> Snake hips. </em>Aziraphale mused. </p>
<p>They started with just walking. Crowley seemed to flow through the growing crowds, slinking through gaps and swaying around oblivious tourists. He stared at everything and Aziraphale wondered at how bewildering modern London must be for him. Yet he took everything in his stride, curious and delighted in equal measure.</p>
<p>“Ha!” Crowley said, stopping on the corner of Oxford Circus somehow in the most awkward spot in the middle of the pavement, and watched the cars on the junction, fingers tucked into his pockets. “Knew there had to be something better than horses for getting around.” He laughed, throwing his head back. His hair caught the light, and Aziraphale noticed, not for the last time, that he was utterly beautiful. “Tell me, have they worked out how to fly yet?” Crowley asked. “Has humanity finally touched the clouds?” </p>
<p>Aziraphale smiled at him. “Oh, my dear. We’ve gone a lot further than that.” The look of excitement he received in response to that was enough to make him feel giddy himself. </p>
<p>Aziraphale took him to the Science Museum. He dragged him past most of the exhibits, promising they’d return another day and do all of it (flustering slightly at his assumption that Crowley would want to spend more time with him), and into the space exhibit. </p>
<p>“People have been all the way to the moon, our technology even further.” Aziraphale said quietly, watching Crowley’s jaw fall slack as he looked around.</p>
<p>Reaching out his hand, Crowley fumbled slightly until he found Aziraphale’s. He grabbed hold of it and held it tightly, before giving a sharp laugh of excitement and dragging Aziraphale into the exhibit. </p>
<p>“Tell me <em> everything.” </em>Crowley said. And so Aziraphale did. They walked through while Aziraphale explained all the rockets and satellites, all the spacesuits and the moon landing, everything that had culminated in humanity setting foot on a ball of rock spinning a couple of hundred thousand miles away around the Earth. Crowley asked a constant stream of questions and Aziraphale did his best to answer all of them. The questions didn't bother him, but he could see now how Crowley had ended up in his predicament. His curiosity was insatiable. After the third time of giving him information that was written right in front of him, Aziraphale stumbled upon another realisation. </p>
<p>“Crowley, can you… my dear, can you read?” He asked as delicately as possible. He’d leaned close to him so as not to ask too loudly and possibly embarrass him. </p>
<p>Crowley shrugged and shuffled towards Aziraphale, leaning in far enough to make the skin on that side of Aziraphale's neck prickle. “‘S more interesting when you tell me.” </p>
<p>While a lovely thing to say, that was not a ‘yes’. Aziraphale felt a complicated mix of feelings that someone so obviously intelligent had been deprived of so much, reduced to asking everyone else for the knowledge he craved. No wonder he asked a lot of questions. Aziraphale vowed to rectify that as soon as possible, if Crowley would let him. </p>
<p>“Can we go to the moon?” Crowley asked. “Must be a hell of a view.” </p>
<p>“I’m afraid not, my dear. It takes a lifetime of training to become an astronaut.” Aziraphale racked his brains as he sought an alternative. “But I do know something we can do. It's not the moon, but it's still very high.”</p>
<p>They left the Science Museum (Aziraphale being made to promise he would keep his word that they would come back and do it all. He did so willingly), and got on the tube. Crowley had insisted on his own Oyster card on the grounds that it was as close to witchcraft as he was ever going to get, despite being persecuted for it his whole life. </p>
<p>Crowley loved the tube. Loved the electronic barriers, the noise, the people, the mix of station styles. He loved the gusts of wind as a train approached. He even loved the tunnels that demanded you walk on a particular side and took great pleasure in the tuts and glares he got swaggering down the other. He even went so far as ignoring the 'please stand on the right' sign on the escalators and insisting on standing <em>next</em> to Aziraphale, holding on to his arm as he dramatically feigned anxiety over getting on and off. Aziraphale tried to be strict with him, but he found he couldn’t keep a straight face and it only encouraged Crowley to be more and more outlandish with his behaviour until he made Aziraphale laugh. Crowley, it seemed, may not be evil, but he certainly had a mischievous streak almost as long as his legs. Aziraphale tried not to think about just how exciting he found that. </p>
<p>He did not believe in soul mates. </p>
<p>Once Aziraphale had managed to drag him out of London Bridge Station, Crowley stared, open mouthed, at the enormous glass structure towering above them. He looked down at Aziraphale, a wide smile on his face. </p>
<p>"Up there?" He asked. Aziraphale nodded. “Oh hell yes.” Crowley said, striding off towards the entrance. </p>
<p>“Wait!” Aziraphale called. “We have to buy tickets!”</p>
<p>The earliest tickets they could get for the viewing platform were for two hour’s time, so to appease Crowley's grumbling, Aziraphale suggested a late lunch. </p>
<p>Over their lunch of pizza (Aziraphale had correctly surmised that cutlery was a foreign concept to Crowley, so finger food was the way to go) Anathema called. </p>
<p>“Aziraphale! I'm so glad I've caught you.” </p>
<p>“We’re both here.” Aziraphale said, hope rising. "Have you found something?"</p>
<p>“Aziraphale you won’t fucking believe this, I think it might have been Agnes that cursed him.” </p>
<p>Aziraphale gasped. “Your… ancestor Agnes?” Crowley gave him a funny look, but carried on eating. Aziraphale had learned from one of their many afternoon tea sessions that Anathema came from a long line of witches, one of whom had written a book of prophesies that Anathema swore by. She certainly had an uncanny amount of good luck, and her family had made a couple of incredibly shrewd investments based on the contents of that book. Being the only copy in existence, Aziraphale tried not to wince when she threw the book around like it was a cheap, mass-market paperback. She had never confessed to being the one that drew on the title page.</p>
<p>“Yep. Admittedly it's not really Agnes' style to leave a get out clause, but it’s a good thing because I think I’ve got a prophecy somewh- here! We all thought it was metaphorical, but it lines up. Listen: ‘<em>When the angel takes the serpent in his grasp at the dawn of Litha, he must his will bestow afore the god departs, if the snake is to be driven out and humanity preserved.’  </em>What do you think it means?” She asked. </p>
<p>Aziraphale thought hard. “Litha is today, isn’t it? Midsummer’s day?”</p>
<p>“Mm-hmm. A festival for the sun god.” </p>
<p>“So if I’m the Angel and he's the serpent" Aziraphale looked at Crowley and got the distinct impression he winked back, the fiend. "‘God departs’ – that means sunset? We’ve got...” Crowley looked down at the pizza. Aziraphale couldn’t say it. Couldn’t dim that spark that lit Crowley up with every new discovery. Couldn't admit to himself that the time they had was limited. </p>
<p>“Oh Aziraphale, you’ve got until sunset to drive out the serpent to preserve humanity. Whatever that means.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale baulked at that. The very thought of driving Crowley away felt tight and cold and unpleasant. It made his palms want to sweat. He couldn't do it.</p>
<p>“That can’t be right." Anathema said. "There must be more to it. I’ll keep digging!” She promised as she hung up. </p>
<p>The rest of lunch was slightly more sombre. Aziraphale didn’t like the idea that he only had a few hours left with this wonderful man. He wanted more. More of those mischievous grins, more of that devil-may-care attitude, more of… everything. He was slightly alarmed at just how much he wanted more of a person that he had only just met, but who, or what, was the cost?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yes I know Crowley shouldn't speak modern English, but I just couldn't face trying to write so much ye olde English, and, frankly, I couldn't think of an explanation for it that I liked. So we're just going to pretend it's a side effect of the curse and suspend our disbelief a little further.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>After the disappointing end to their lunch, Aziraphale found it almost a relief when their time slot for the Shard came around. Crowley was back to his bouncy, excited self, pulling Aziraphale along to get back to the building. Once inside they entered the first of two lifts that would take them the sixty-nine floors to the viewing level. Inside the lift was lined with video screens, depicting various ceilings and roofs that they subsequently seemed to pass through. Crowley had stepped in the lift confidently, but once it began to move he was highly mistrustful of it, holding on to Aziraphale the entire time. He stepped out with a little more caution, but seemed perfectly happy to get into the second lift that would take them the remaining way to the top, once again standing close to Aziraphale and holding tightly on to his hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rounding the corner to the viewing level, Crowley went straight for the edge, hands against the glass to look down over London. The entire floor was open plan, with a bar in the centre. The walls were fully glazed with triple height windows, sturdy white columns supporting the grey, steel frames. There were a few other people there as well, tourists mainly, but it didn’t feel crowded and as it was a clear day they could see quite a long way. Crowley turned to Aziraphale, all traces of mischief gone and replaced by that ever present delight and thirst for knowledge. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell me everything.” He demanded. So Aziraphale began to point out all the landmarks he could, telling Crowley everything he remembered about them. He’d lived in various parts of London for a long time so had picked up a fair bit of general knowledge which he supplemented with the information set around the edges of the room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It all looks so different. Everything’s bigger. There’s barely anything I recognise.” Crowley said softly. And then Aziraphale had to explain to him with a heavy heart that great swathes of London had burnt down in a catastrophic fire. At this point Crowley looped his arm into Aziraphale’s again, leaning into his side to listen to him as they gazed over the river and across the cityscape.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This was another thing Aziraphale wasn’t used to. He wasn’t overly keen on physical contact as a general rule, but every touch from Crowley seemed to emanate such a deep sense of calm that he found himself quite drawn to it. He felt the distance between them not as a protective barrier as he normally did, but as a yawning hole, a tether stretched thin that he felt compelled to ease. Then Crowley put his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder as they moved to a different view, and he felt an uncharacteristic moment of vertigo, looking down on all of London with this head so full of questions resting upon him. It was only the fact that Crowley was holding on to him that stopped him from swaying as the feeling settled. He’d never had a problem with heights before, nor experienced this abrupt sensation of falling, but then, he supposed, he’d never been quite this high up before. Nor with quite such company as the unique man at his shoulder. In any other scenario, Aziraphale mused, this would be quite romantic, but Crowley hadn’t lived through the Victorian era, hadn’t been swayed by their extreme views of modesty. Aziraphale couldn’t place any meaning on his familiar behaviour.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I must say, my dear, you’ve taken to the modern world like a… a…” Crowley shuffled slightly, nuzzling closer and Aziraphale found himself having trouble with words. “What is it that takes to water?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley gave a puzzled hum, low and quiet next to his ear. The vibrations of it sank far deeper into Aziraphale than he was prepared for. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, never mind. You’ve coped very well with all this change, is what I’m trying to say. It can’t have been easy.” Aziraphale said, patting Crowley’s hand where it rested in the crease of his elbow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well I’ve got myself a guardian Angel, haven’t I? Nothing bad could ever happen with you around.” Crowley murmured, turning his head to rest his chin on Aziraphale’s shoulder and look up at him, and Aziraphale was struck by how very close Crowley’s face was. How close his mouth was in particular. Aziraphale hadn’t looked at Crowley’s mouth in much detail before, but with it so close he couldn’t help but notice the way his bottom lip stuck out so much more than his top lip, giving him the appearance of constantly pouting. It was rather an intriguing thought, Crowley’s lips, and Aziraphale realised it would only take a slight movement to…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glanced away, quickly. Suddenly aware that he’d been staring. That would be a terrible faux pas, to take advantage of him like that. He’d never forgive himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was at this point that Crowley noticed the outside viewing platform, and dragged a somewhat flustered Aziraphale up to it. Aziraphale appreciated the drop in temperature, even if he didn’t particularly like the noise. It was very windy out there, the glass barriers that towered over them doing little to stop the eddies that toyed with Crowley’s vibrant curls, whipping them about his face. Aziraphale laughed and laughed, unable to keep his amusement contained at the sight of Crowley fighting with the wayward strands of hair. Eventually Crowley gave up and went back inside, grumbling something about it not being worth the hassle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re a bastard, you know that.” He said, once he’d managed to get all the hair out of his mouth. Aziraphale just smiled at him, relieved that whatever had come over him before had seemed to calm down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Careful, my dear, one might almost take that as a compliment coming from you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe you should.” Crowley replied petulantly, wandering over to the window and leaning against one of the white columns, ankles crossed and fingers shoved in pockets in a way that was clearly supposed to appear nonchalant. When Aziraphale didn’t follow immediately, Crowley looked back at him over his shoulder, letting the sunglasses slip as he gave him a very pointed look over them, one eyebrow raised. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took Aziraphale a moment to figure out how his legs worked, but he made it over there eventually. They spent the rest of the time up there in a companionable silence, before once more riding the two lifts (with a more nature focused artificial view this time) down to street level, and heading back out into the London crowds. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So what did you think?” Aziraphale asked as they strolled along the edge of the river. “It’s the highest I can do on short notice.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley tilted his head in thought, sauntering along loosely next to him. He hadn’t taken Aziraphale’s hand again, and Aziraphale missed it, as ridiculous as that was. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ducks!” Crowley blurted out, startling Aziraphale. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ducks? Wha-” Aziraphale looked over the low wall towards the muddy banks of the river Thames.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, ‘s what takes to water. Ducks.” Crowley looked very pleased with himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“O-oh. I see. Quite.” Aziraphale was a little surprised that Crowley had been listening intently enough to have remembered that little throwaway comment. He usually found people would listen to him without really hearing much, but not Crowley, clearly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A few steps further, and Crowley suddenly swung himself round and stopped in front of Aziraphale, causing him to pull up short. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And just so’s you know, I loved it.” Crowley did that smile that lit up everything in the surrounding area, including, apparently, the centre of Aziraphale’s chest, which was new and not at all unpleasant. Aziraphale became acutely aware of the lack of distance between them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmmm?” Thoughts of ducks and Crowley’s freckles had made him forget what his question had been. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The… thingy. With the view.” Crowley looked up towards the Shard and waved a hand vaguely at it. Aziraphale just about managed to tear his eyes from the stretch of Crowley’s neck to follow his gaze. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh! I’m so glad.” Aziraphale said, his voice tight. Crowley’s extra height meant that Aziraphale had to look up at him when he actually stood up straight. Which he seemed to be doing. Oh dear, Aziraphale was staring again, wasn’t he?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He cleared his throat and took a step back. Perhaps this feeling hadn’t passed at all. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, my dear. Anything else you would like to see?” They still had several hours of daylight left, and Aziraphale wanted to make sure Crowley enjoyed it. He would just have to keep to himself while he figured out what on earth Crowley had to do with the loss of humanity. Perhaps some ill-timed mischief? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley tilted his head to one side, examining Aziraphale where he stood with his fingers tangling in front of his stomach. His smile was dimmed slightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you like to do?” Crowley asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale paused, thinking. He wasn’t often asked that sort of question. “Well, I like to read, but that’s not really going to entertain you-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Could read to me. You have a lovely voice.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale blushed, but carried on. “I also like to walk in the park, I suppose. I like photography, you see, and there is always something to see in the park.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ok.” Crowley said, turning and sticking out an elbow for Aziraphale to take his arm. It was such a casual gesture, but Aziraphale felt quite stunned by it. Even more so at himself as he realised he’d already put his hand on Crowley’s elbow. This easy intimacy had snuck up on him, his body seeming to know what to do even before he did. So much for keeping to himself, then. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Take me to the park.” Crowley said, striding away. Aziraphale allowed himself to be led for a moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not sure you’ll… oh! Have you ever seen a pelican?” He asked, an idea forming. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Depends. What’s a pelican?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale led him back towards the tube. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s ‘photogomaphy’ then?” Crowley murmured into his ear as they stood on the train, gently bumping into each other with the movement of the carriage. Each sway felt exaggerated, Aziraphale holding on to the pole at his back quite tightly to overcome this irrational dropping feeling in his gut. Crowley was standing with one hand in his pocket, the other holding the overhead rail, his elbow by Aziraphale’s head. He looked so bewilderingly at home, moving so fluidly with the jolts of the train. Aziraphale didn’t notice the fond smile that took over his face at the sight. He really should be thinking about how to break this curse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“‘Photography’, dear boy. It’s… Well, let me start at the beginning…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the time they arrived at St. James’s Park Crowley had learned quite a lot about photography, and Aziraphale was no closer to working out how the devil he was supposed to save humanity and Crowley at the same time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A change came over Crowley as they entered the park. He seemed to relax slightly, meandering over to walk on the grass rather than the path. The park itself was an open, green space so there wasn’t much in the way of plants, but Crowley reached out and brushed the leaves with his fingertips as he passed. Yesterday, Aziraphale would have dismissed the way the plants all seemed to reach ever so slightly for Crowley as movement in the breeze. But having witnessed a statue come to life that very morning, it became harder to ignore the impossible things that seemed to be happening right in front of him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley liked plants, and apparently they liked him back. Perhaps there was more to this strange man than first appeared. Aziraphale was about to ask him about it when the pelicans came into view on their rock in the middle of the lake. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley walked right to the water’s edge, staring at the birds. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re ridiculous.” He decreed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale was inclined to agree. “And quite impossible to photograph. They were most uncooperative when I tried.” Aziraphale said, coming to stand next to him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have pictures of them?” Crowley asked. “Can I see? I’d like to see your photos.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yes! I found them when I did that treasure hunt. That was the first day I…” Aziraphale trailed off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley looked at him, waiting patiently. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well… It was the first day I saw you, my dear. You were on the list of things to take pictures of.” He finished, somewhat sheepishly. Crowley raised one eyebrow and turned back to the birds. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh. So you have photos of me? As a statue?” He asked, still staring over the lake towards where the swans were gliding. A black and white swan were swimming side by side. “Hey look, it’s us.” Crowley said, grinning and pointing at them. He turned towards Aziraphale as Aziraphale looked over the lake, just in time to see the swans turn and bend their heads together in a mutual display of affection, necks forming a heart shape. He saw Crowley turn out of the corner of his eye and fumbled for something to distract him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Photos! Yes, I took pictures of you. You looked rather striking in the sunlight, my dear.” He said quickly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Striking, eh?” Crowley asked, a cheeky smile on his face and Aziraphale felt the warmth on his face that was from more than just the sun. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hush, you. Foul fiend. I can’t be sure you weren’t cursed for a reason. I haven’t even decided if I like you yet.” Aziraphale narrowed his eyes slightly at Crowley, pouting. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley jiggled the arm that Aziraphale hadn’t registered that he was holding. With both hands, no less. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You dooo.” Crowley teased, and Aziraphale had no answer for that. In truth, he was starting to suspect ‘like’ was rapidly becoming inadequate to describe how he felt about this wonderful, curious, spark of a man. He was starting to get that falling feeling every time Crowley looked at him and he wasn’t sure if it was a good sort of falling, or a descent into madness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t think it cares…</span>
  </em>
  <span>” echoed in the back of Aziraphale’s head in Anathema’s voice as he looked back towards the paired swans, and that was quite enough of that type of thought, thank you.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s that?” Crowley asked, breaking Aziraphale out of his spiral. He followed Crowley’s gaze to see the ice cream cart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh! Ice cream. It’s cold and sweet. Would you like one?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley looked back at him. “Would </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> like one?” He countered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale got himself a vanilla cone with a flake, and Crowley chose a strawberry lolly. Before Aziraphale could react, Crowley leant over and swiped his tongue up Aziraphale’s ice cream, ignoring the squeak of protest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Meh. Not bad.” He said, turning his attention to his own lolly. Aziraphale nearly choked as Crowley licked it, his tongue curling around it quite impossibly. It wasn’t so much the sheer length of the man’s tongue, but that what he was doing with it was objectively normal, but somehow seemed utterly obscene. It was rather, well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>weird. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But in a very good way, it turned out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh this was a problem. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale looked at his own ice cream, with the big tongue swipe cutting through the expertly crafted swirl. He couldn’t bring himself to be annoyed by it. Licking the ice cream himself as it began to drip, he pulled out the flake. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, now here is a treat.” He said. “You won’t have had chocolate before. Try this.” He said holding it out for Crowley to take.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Naturally Crowley merely leaned over and wrapped his mouth around it, with absolutely no regard for what that sight did to Aziraphale. He could only thank the heavens that Crowley was wearing sunglasses because the sight of those increasingly distracting lips wrapped around anything vaguely phallic while he looked up at Aziraphale might have pushed him firmly over the edge. As it was he had to bite the inside of his lip to try and distract himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mercifully Crowley didn’t waste any time biting down. His eyebrows raised above his sunglasses as the flavour hit him. Aziraphale smiled and put the end of the flake into his own mouth to take a bite. Crowley stilled for a moment, and Aziraphale had to assume he must really like the flake because he made a strangled sort of noise high in his throat, followed by a frown. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oi!” Crowley said, lunging for the chocolate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale laughed and tried to move his hand away and for a moment they were locked in a tussle for who could get the last mouthful of chocolate, both trying to pull the flake towards their own mouths. Aziraphale was stronger, but Crowley was using both hands, his own lolly sticking precariously out to the side. Then their noses bumped together and Aziraphale froze, suddenly aware how close they had become again. It was all the distraction Crowley needed to ram the chocolate into his own mouth with a cry of victory, taking Aziraphale’s fingers with it. To add insult to injury Crowley’s sunglasses had slipped and, sensing Aziraphale’s pause, he looked up at him over them, golden, serpentine eyes wide. The pupils expanded quickly, something that would have been hard to miss at the best of times but was particularly impactful with his face so close that Aziraphale could count the freckles if he wanted to. Aziraphale couldn’t look away, breath catching in his throat as Crowley delicately extracted the last of the flake from his fingers, tongue flicking over Aziraphale’s fingertips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale was in trouble. He could feel the pull of Crowley’s mouth, wanting to capture those lips that were forever smirking at him, taste the chocolate on his tongue. He’d been drawn to Crowley ever since he first laid eyes on him in bronze, but seeing the man in motion amplified everything. His hair was more beautiful for the way the curls bounced as he walked, the angular lines of his face more striking for the myriad of expressions he pulled. His shoulders seemed broader for the way they hunched as he shrugged. And his hips... Well. Aziraphale had never seen anything like the way Crowley’s hips moved as he walked. It was mesmerising. Crowley’s lean form was incredibly graceful in the way it seemed to flow from one position to the next, and Aziraphale had been doing his best to not to stare. He hadn’t done very well. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>None of this was helped by having his fingers in Crowley’s mouth while the man looked up at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley finally pulled back, but he didn’t move far, his eyes still fixed on Aziraphale with an unblinking intensity. Aziraphale was going to lean in and kiss him in a moment and there was nothing he could do about it. He found he wanted Crowley with a fierce longing that he’d never experienced with someone that he’d realistically only just met. It was almost a relief when the drip of ice cream dribbled down his other hand giving him the shock he needed to look away as he licked the melted vanilla cream from his hand. When he turned back, Crowley had shoved his sunglasses back up again and looked away, his face tinted with the most delightful shade of pink. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s quite a warm day, isn’t it, my dear?” Aziraphale said, Crowley mumbling something vaguely in agreement. They started walking again, making their way to the other end of the park in silence as they finished their ice creams. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale fretted. He fretted that he wasn’t doing enough to work out the prophecy. He fretted that he was becoming alarmingly attracted to this man that, only last night, was a statue cast in bronze. He fretted about how everything felt so natural with Crowley, as if he’d been waiting for this his whole life. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They passed the stretch of park with all the business people in suits. They seemed to be mumbling to themselves as they read newspapers or fed the ducks. Aziraphale figured it was the stresses of corporate life finally getting to them. Although why they all happened to congregate in this particular area, he had no idea. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As for that… moment, Aziraphale didn’t quite know what to think. He’d thought he was alone in his attraction, but Crowley seemed to have felt it too - the dilation of his serpentine pupils was quite dramatic. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>However, with a very real chance he would only have today with Crowley, Aziraphale decided it was better spent making sure Crowley saw as much of the world as he could before sunset. He owed him that much if he was going to be forced to drive him out. His own feelings shouldn’t factor into it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley seemed reluctant to leave the greenery of the park, so they wandered back up the length of it until Crowley spotted a rose garden. He looked at Aziraphale and Aziraphale just knew there was no way he could say no to that face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale hadn’t quite known what to expect when they got there, but seeing Crowley straighten up and walk down the rows examining the blooms like a General inspecting their troops was not it. He trailed behind him, watching him with interest as Crowley bent forward and brought his face close to a particularly lovely rose, its blush pink petals curling in a delightfully erratic way. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think you can do better than that.” Crowley said and Aziraphale was taken aback at the tone of his voice. Gone was the irreverent drawl, and here was something altogether darker, more vicious. He carried on like that down the rows, inspecting the flowers, tutting and poking at ones that he deemed not to be making enough of an effort. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not good enough. Too showy. Too leggy. Too… much. Is that the best you can do?” He said, prodding each one in turn. “You’ve got such a prime spot here, everything you could need, and you’re just letting yourselves down with this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a while Aziraphale’s nerves had had enough. “Crowley! Do you have nothing pleasant to say?” He snapped. Crowley turned to him, the scowl that he’d been wearing for the best part of half an hour dropping away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well they’re roses. Can’t mollycoddle roses, Angel. Devious bastards, they think a pretty flower is enough to make you forget about their thorns. They’ve got complacent and aren’t trying hard enough.” Crowley said, as if it were obvious. He flicked a leaf and scowled again. “All of you. Grow. Better.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale was utterly perplexed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You seem to know a lot about plants, then?” He tried, hoping a change in subject might lighten the mood. Crowley shrugged and made a complicated noise that seemed to be missing quite a few vowels. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Plants are easy. Let them know who’s boss and what’s expected of ‘em, and don’t let ‘em forget it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And… and this approach works for you?” Aziraphale was bemused. He wasn’t much of a gardener, but surely there had to be more than this to horticulture. Growing things tended to require a good deal more, well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley looked back at the roses. “Yep. My plants never got diseases. They knew what happened to them if they got spots.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The leaves across the rose bed rustled and trembled, and Aziraphale wrapped his arms around himself in anticipation of the breeze, but it never came. Instead, his stomach rumbled. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How about some dinner?” Aziraphale said, checking his pocket watch. “What would you say to some sushi?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have food you’re supposed to talk to now?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley poked at the sushi. Aziraphale showed him how to hold the chopsticks, which he picked up very quickly, and how to dunk it in the soy sauce. Crowley, it turned out, liked strong flavours. He liked the saltiness of the soy, even the heat of the wasabi once he’d got over the initial shock. He seemed to especially like the way he could just pick at all the food on offer, eating it morsel by morsel. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But for all that, there was a sadness about him. Something had been pulling at that smile ever since that moment over the flake. Aziraphale couldn’t work out what was wrong, but it felt like it might have something to do with him, and try as he might, Crowley didn’t perk up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you not like the sushi, my dear? We can go somewhere else, you know…” Aziraphale tried. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah, ‘s just…” Crowley stopped, Aziraphale couldn’t tell what was going on behind the sunglasses, but Crowley seemed to be looking at him, or perhaps through him, rather intently. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know I’m not the most exciting person, my dear, but for what it’s worth I do want you to know it has been a real pleasure for me to spend this day with you.” Aziraphale said, looking down at his plate. He wasn’t normally so forward with his thoughts, but with Crowley it was surprisingly easy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s worth a lot, Angel.” Crowley said, and his voice was so soft that Aziraphale almost didn’t catch it. He was going to miss being called Angel if he didn’t work out what to do about this curse. His sadness must have shown on his face, because Crowley reached over and put his hand over Aziraphale’s, causing him to nearly drop his chopsticks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, I woke up this morning in the future. Everything is exciting. You make it not scary.” Crowley said, and Aziraphale didn’t quite know what to make of that. “Besides, I thoroughly approve of the absence of any bloody horses. Too hard on the buttocks.” And there was that lopsided grin again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale really needed to work out how to break that curse. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As they were leaving Anathema called again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, Aziraphale, I’m really sorry but I can’t find any connection with him to any other person or event. There’s nothing coming up for snakes or serpents either. Agnes was pretty tight with her curses, it’s rare for her to give a get out clause at all, so I don’t think there’s any other way to break it. I’m so sorry.” She said. “I’ll keep looking, but I’m not sure what else we can do. I’m sure she knew what she was doing, I just wish we did.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not to worry, my dear. Thank you for all your help so far.” Aziraphale said, putting the phone back in his pocket. He couldn’t tell Crowley. He had no idea what the curse would do at sunset, but he was determined to work it out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After dinner they wandered about again, Crowley seeming to enjoy the hustle and bustle. They stopped at a wine bar, the alley that ran alongside the park opposite full of tables and people in the late afternoon sun. Crowley sprawled in a chair, limbs falling haphazardly and the wine glass dangling precariously from his long fingers. He sipped at it, seemingly surprised at the flavour. Aziraphale would have been content to sit and admire him, the way he turned his face to the last of the day’s sun, basking in it, but it turned out Crowley had some rather strong opinions. The next hour (and the rest of the bottle) was spent in deep discussion over all manner of things. Aziraphale didn’t even notice the time passing, he was so engrossed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He completely forgot to think about anything to do with this blessed curse. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bottle finished, they meandered back out onto the streets, a little less coordinated than before, and found themselves in Trafalgar Square. Aziraphale spent some time explaining why there was a bloke perched on top of a bloody great column, and Crowley took a liking to him the instant Aziraphale explained the whole business with the telescope and the false eye. Up towards Piccadilly Circus so Crowley could see the lights, and Aziraphale didn’t notice as they veered away from Soho. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale was desperately trying to think of anything that could break the curse, but he kept getting stuck on the ‘driving out the snake’ bit. He didn’t want to send Crowley away, but he couldn’t have humanity’s downfall on his conscience. Although it did seem rather odd that humankind hinged on this one person, no matter how brightly he seemed to shine.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh this was a pickle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As they stepped through the gates, Aziraphale realised they were back in Berkeley Square. Aziraphale hadn’t planned on bringing Crowley here, but Crowley had been leading the way and now here they were. The sun had already dipped below the buildings, and one, lone, strip of sunlight was reaching across the grass and picking out the empty stone square surrounded by flowers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This where I was?” Crowley asked, pointing at it. There were signs of trampling feet where people had been searching the area that morning, squashing the flora, along with little bunches of flowers and notes left by well wishers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gosh, had it really only been this morning that Crowley had woken up?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, my dear.” Aziraphale replied, his pleasant buzz from the wine now souring. He didn’t like being back here. It only reminded him that their time was rapidly running out. He bit his lip when Crowley stepped onto the sunken stone, turning to face him with a wistful smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you for today, Angel.” He said, and there was a note of sadness in his voice. A resignation to his fate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale felt like an icicle had been driven through his chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you… Crowley what are you doing?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s sunset, Angel, and the curse isn’t broken. After what you said at lunch, figured I’d make it easier by being here, then you don’t have to worry about me. ‘S always easier to walk than be pushed, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sun was sinking. Aziraphale tried to ignore it. Perhaps if he ignored it then it would forget about them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What? Crowley don’t be daft, how could anyone ever push you away?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley looked down at his feet, letting out a mirthless laugh. “Very easily.” He said, looking back up at him. There was a downturn in his voice that Aziraphale really didn’t care for, but he had no idea how to fix it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, Crowley, please. We’ll work this out. I promise.” Aziraphale tried as Crowley stood, testing out various poses. “Don’t do this. You can’t give up now!” This didn’t feel a lot like driving the snake out, but Aziraphale was past caring. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The strip of sunlight began to recede, the shadow creeping towards them across the grass. Time was running out and Aziraphale had no idea how to fix this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not going to solve a centuries old curse in a few minutes Aziraphale. It’s ok. I had a wonderful day, which I’ll never forget. Best day of my miserable life.” Crowley said. His face was impassive and Aziraphale had the impression that it was hiding a great deal of feeling. The park around them was turning golden in the late evening light, the leaves rustling in a slight breeze. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale stepped forward as the shadow nipped at Crowley’s toes. Crowley looked down at his feet, legs fidgeting but feet not moving. As the sunlight gave up its grasp, Crowley was slowly turning back to bronze. Aziraphale couldn’t hold in the sob as all around them people were oblivious to the events unfolding in this corner of the park, all packing up their things to head home. Together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not fair! There’s so much for you to see!” Aziraphale wailed. He could feel the panic rising, that familiar sense of loss already creeping in, but his loss wasn’t important. This wasn’t about what he wanted, it was about Crowley deserving better. Crowley smiled at him. A thin, wobbly little thing, and Aziraphale had no idea what to do with his hands. They settled on tangling together in front of him. “I was going to teach you to read! And take you in a proper aeroplane, and to the zoo, and… and… Crowley there’s so much more! I wanted to show you the stars!” He wanted to show him everything. Seeing the world through Crowley’s eyes had been a revelation and Aziraphale wanted to see Crowley’s face light up for it all, but the bronze was up to his knees now. He grabbed Crowley’s hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There must be something we can do! Anathema’s still looking into it. We’ll fix this. There’s a whole world out there Crowley, just waiting to be explored, although I’m sure you’ll do your level best to irritate most of it.” Humanity would just have to deal with it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve already seen more than I ever thought possible, Angel. You’ve given me the best day that a wretch like me could ever hope for.” Crowley said gently. He was always so gentle. “It’s OK. Really.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The shadow reached his waist, and, finally, Crowley’s hips fell still. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> OK. You can’t go. What about the food? Or… or coffee! You’ll like coffee, Crowley. I’ll take you for coffee, with all the syrups and flavours and silly names, oh you’ll love the ridiculous names, even though I know you’ll probably just drink it black… They write your name on the cups, you know. They never get mine right, they… oh!.” Aziraphale was babbling now, his free hand coming up to his mouth to cover the gasp. “Crowley... I don’t even know your full name!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anthony.” Crowley said quietly. “My first name is Anthony. Anthony J. Crowley.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bronze slipped up Crowley’s chest, and his hands stopped their merry dance. Crowley dipped his free hand in and out of the sunlight, watching it switch from bronze to flesh and blood and back again with interest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Anthony?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Aziraphale said, momentarily surprised. He hadn’t expected that, although being named after the patron saint of lost things seemed to fit somehow. The horses, not so much. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t like it?” Crowley asked, eyebrows pinched, hand pausing in its dance as he looked at Aziraphale. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no, I’ll get used to it.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please let me get used to it...</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Oh and the crêpes. Oh I should have taken you for crêpes…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Angel, it’s fine. You showed me plenty. Honestly.” Crowley looked so earnest. Aziraphale couldn’t stand it. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to save him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But you deserve so much more!” Aziraphale was crying now, tears falling down his face at the injustice of it. At the thought of a world without this bright spark of joy flitting around causing mischief. What sort of humanity wouldn’t benefit from someone like Crowley? How would anything ever feel the same again?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bronze was creeping towards Crowley’s shoulders. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s ok, Angel. Blokes like me don’t get the fairytale ending.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale stopped, feeling the thread of something catch in his brain. Fairytale ending. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fairytale.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Witches used curses in fairytales. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>When the angel takes the serpent in his grasp at the dawn of Litha, he must his will bestow afore the god departs, if the snake is to be driven out and humanity preserved.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale was thinking fast. Crowley had said ‘blokes like me’. What if… What if the humanity they were saving wasn’t humanity as a whole, but one person’s humanity? Namely, Crowley’s. What if the ‘snake’ part only referred to the </span>
  <em>
    <span>curse.</span>
  </em>
  <span> In fairytales, Aziraphale knew, there was one sure-fire way to break a curse. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bronze was nearly at Crowley’s neck. Aziraphale stepped forward. Crowley’s eyebrows pinched together and as Aziraphale gently took his sunglasses off the eyes behind were wide and slightly fearful, but there was hope in there. Aziraphale cupped his face with both hands, ignoring the feel of the cold metal as it crept around Crowley’s jaw, closed his eyes and pressed a kiss to his mouth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He must his will bestow.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What was Aziraphale’s will? He knew he didn’t believe in love at first sight, but he must have looked at Crowley dozens of times over the course of today. He was way past ‘first sight’ by now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stay with me.” Aziraphale whispered against Crowley’s lips, surprising himself with his frankness. “I think I might have fallen completely in love with you, so I’d really rather you didn’t leave me, Crowley. I want you to stay. Please...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale kissed him again, pouring as much love and hope and desperation into it as possible. And if this didn’t work, then at least he’d tried everything. At least Crowley would know he was loved. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, oh how glorious! Crowley was kissing him back with the same outpouring of emotion, the same eagerness with which he approached life and it was wonderful and it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>right. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then Aziraphale felt Crowley’s arms around his waist, encircling him and pulling him in, and he was so drunk on the feeling of being held by this ridiculous and wonderful man that it took a few moments to realise the implications of it. When he did, he gasped and jumped back, looking Crowley over from head to toe in all his beautiful, living glory. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Muh? Why’d you stop?” Crowley slurred, looking as wrecked from it as Aziraphale felt. Crowley blinked open his eyes. They were green, a gorgeous emerald colour, the pupil perfectly round and human. The curse was broken, the snake driven out. Aziraphale had quite liked his serpentine eyes, expressive and wonderfully unique. But these eyes were the rich green of the plant life that seemed to respond so readily to him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley looked down at himself, spread his arms wide and gave everything an experimental wiggle, answering Aziraphale’s earlier intrigue as to whether the snake hips were cause or effect. He looked up at Aziraphale, delighted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It worked! It actually fucking worked!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale shared his joy, then his brain caught up with his ears. “I.. what? What do you mean ‘it worked’?” Aziraphale asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley managed to look a little guilty.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You kn- Crowley have you known how to break this curse all along?!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley flinched slightly at the tone of Aziraphale’s voice, looking everywhere but at him as he hunched in on himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not exactly. Had a hunch. Knew it had to be you, though.” Crowley said sheepishly. Aziraphale frowned, trying to understand what on earth could be so special about him that he was the only one that could break the curse. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why? Because I… I… oh dear.” He remembered his confession. “A lovers’ kiss.” He whispered, fingers coming up to touch his lips as he looked at Crowley. “But then…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Love you, Angel.” Crowley said, looking at Aziraphale with such unbridled hope and Aziraphale couldn’t stifle the gasp. “Opened my eyes and there you were, glowing. Then you were so kind to me, taking me under your wing, and…” Crowley flung his arms out in exasperation, waving them vaguely at Aziraphale. “You’re a bloody angel. Didn’t stand a chance. But you didn’t seem to feel the same way, no matter how hard I tried. Knew if I said anything you’d do it out of charity and I didn’t want to force you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale felt that swoop again, that stomach churning feeling like he was falling, but this time he knew exactly what he was falling into. Well, further into. He decided to jump. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Crowley, it has taken considerable effort </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>to kiss you all afternoon, and I find myself once more with the overwhelming desire to do so. May I?” He asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley looked up sharply from where he’d been poking the grass with his toes, frowning as he appeared to consider it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.” He said finally. And Aziraphale would have been upset if he hadn’t spotted a familiar gleam in Crowley’s eye. “‘S my turn.” And before Aziraphale had a chance to wonder what that meant and be appropriately nervous, Crowley had darted forwards, wrapped his arms around him and tilted him backwards, tipping him off his feet. Aziraphale yelped, throwing his arms up and around Crowley’s neck just as Crowley kissed him quite determinedly on the mouth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This time, when Aziraphale felt that familiar sensation of falling he knew Crowley wouldn’t let him go far. Surprised and elated that such a ridiculously improbable man had managed to turn his life so completely and wonderfully upside down in the course of a day, Aziraphale couldn’t help the giggle that escaped, prematurely breaking the kiss as his lips pulled into a smile he couldn’t hold back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oi, trying to snog you senseless here. D’you mind?” Crowley grumbled, trailing kissed down his jaw. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry darling, but did you just dip me?” Aziraphale managed between giggles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Crowley raised him back to his feet, but didn’t let him go. “Yeah. problem?” He asked, almost masking the nerves. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no. I’m sure I’ll get used to it.” Aziraphale said, amusement evident in his voice as he fought to hold in the grin and looked up at Crowley from under his lashes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale still didn’t believe in soul mates, but he thought perhaps he didn’t mind if they believed in him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With the sun finally slinking down below the horizon dusk took hold, and a nightingale began to sing in the trees above them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neither of them heard it, but it was there. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>A week later</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aziraphale was humming as he moved around the shop. He’d only just unlocked the door and wasn’t expecting anyone to come in, so naturally the bell rang just as he slipped behind a shelf. Aziraphale frowned to himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cooee! Aziraphale! It’s only me!” Called out a very welcome voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tracy!” Aziraphale called back as he stepped out. “How are…” He faltered as she took one look at him, gasped, and rushed over. Tracy took hold of both his hands, turning them over then pulling them out wide to look at the rest of him. He bit back a smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aziraphale Zachariah Fell, when I left to go on holiday you were so out of sorts and now look at you, you’re positively glowing! Tell me </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” She demanded, leaning in close, her eyes shining with glee behind her long, fake eyelashes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not sure what you think there is to tell, my dear lady.” Aziraphale replied, a coy smile on his face as he dropped her hands and stepped back slightly. She continued to grin knowingly at him, her eyes skittering around his edges.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Naturally, Crowley chose that moment to wander in, barefoot, pyjama trousers riding low and Aziraphale’s shirt hanging loosely from his shoulders. He carried a mug of coffee in one hand, the other pushing back long hair still mussed up from sleep as he yawned. Apparently not fully awake yet, he didn’t notice Tracy as he bumbled up to Aziraphale and planted a kiss on his cheek. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“M’rnin’ Angel.” Crowley mumbled as he turned away again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tracy’s mouth fell open, her eyes wide. She looked Crowley up and down with a highly appreciative curiosity before turning back to Aziraphale. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Where</span>
  </em>
  <span> did you find </span>
  <em>
    <span>him…</span>
  </em>
  <span>” She squealed, swatting Aziraphale’s arm gently. Crowley spun to look at her, letting out a large groan. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not another bloody witch!”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I found him in Berkeley Square, if you must know.” Aziraphale said, sounding incredibly smug as he put an arm around Crowley’s waist and pulled him close. “He was in a spot of bother and quite literally fell into my arms.” Aziraphale couldn’t resist a glance at Crowley who was half scowling at him, but also looking incredibly smitten.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think ‘a spot of bother’ is somewhat underselling it, Angel.” Crowley sighed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tracy looked absolutely delighted. “Well I’d say you arrived at just the right time, young man. Now, I want to hear it all. Immediately. Will this need tea?” She asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Madame,” Aziraphale replied, a wide smile on his face, “this is going to require a whole pot.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>My theory is, Crowley was born in the wrong era and Agnes spotted this. She knew he belonged sometime else, particularly with the puritanical reign of Oliver Cromwell that was about to kick off, so she put him to one side until the world was ready for him. She’s very smug about it, although there were several moments where she wanted to kick Aziraphale for not just getting on with it. </p>
<p>Tracy’s husband Shadwell knows a few people who sort Crowley with the right paperwork to be able to function in modern society. </p>
<p>Aziraphale will show Crowley the marbled endpapers he uses when restoring books one day, and Crowley has a go. He gets so good at it that his papers became quite in demand.</p>
<p>Anathema meets Newt and gets bored of running a shop so she lets Crowley have the building after Aziraphale began to complain about all the plants. Now he runs a plant shop. He still sells the papers, sometimes using them to wrap bouquets. Aziraphale’s photographs fill the walls.  </p>
<p>They’re both very happy.</p>
<p>Crowley hasn’t run out of questions yet, although he has one in particular he’s working up the guts to ask. Aziraphale will, of course, say yes. But that’s a whole different adventure. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hope you enjoyed this!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you think I've missed a tag, please let me know.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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